


Into the Blue

by Evandar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jötunn Loki, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Blue is the only color which maintains its own character in all its tones. Take blue in all its nuances, from the darkest to the lightest - it will always stay blue."</i> - Raoul Dufy</p><p>Tony develops a fascination with Loki, one that’s half-fear and half-lust. His instincts of self-preservation must be leaving him, because the fear only makes him want Loki more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Slashorific 2014

Tony doesn’t believe in gods. He doesn’t believe in aliens either, but there’s a guy in a cloak claiming to kind of be both, so he’s keeping that to himself. He’s seen the data Coulson shared, and that’s fine. He understands it. He’s just still working on believing.

The alien-god – Thor of the Norse myths and the Hammer and the destruction of a small town in New Mexico fame – claims they need a sorcerer. Fury makes angry noises. Tony likes Thor on principle just for that, so he backs him up. 

“ _Maybe_ fiddling around with this stuff should be left to the people who know _exactly_ what it is,” he says, and when Fury turns his glare on him, he opens the nuclear can of worms that JARVIS found for him. “Before you start another war with it – oh wait. _Oops_.”

…

The guy Thor brings back with him is blue. He’s very, very blue – except for his eyes, which are red, and his hair and claws: both black – and he’s beautiful. Exotic. Dangerous. Tony’s torn between wanting him and wanting to get away from him, even as he looks around the room and studies them all in turn.

Thor, carefully, frees his arm from the stranger’s grasp, unwilling to touch him for longer than necessary.

“My friends,” he says, “this is Loki Laufeyjarson, Crown Prince of Jotunheimr.”

…

A long time ago, back when his Dad was alive and Tony still wanted to please him, he’d been to the Arctic. 

The good old Captain Rogers probably doesn’t realise just how much of Tony’s childhood was spent on boats, searching for any trace of him in the ice. Tony would much rather he doesn’t find out, either, because Rogers would give him one of those baffled ‘but-your-father-liked-me-why-aren’t-you-like-him’ looks again.

Tony’s been to the Arctic. He’s been watched by hungry polar bears as he’s perched on railings. He’s seen ice crack and slide off into the water. He’s seen crevasses drop away under men’s feet and heard the resulting screams – they always scream until the safety line pulls taught and they remember they have it; until their axe finds purchase again and they can scramble back to safety.

There’s a kind of blue up there that screams of danger. It’s the blue of shadows on ice and unfathomable waters. The longer you look at it, it sings of peace and tranquillity; it makes you close your eyes and breathe in deep just to smell the untouched beauty. It lulls you, right up until it opens up and swallows you whole.

Loki reminds him of that kind of blue. It’s not his skin, it’s just _him_. His every move screams of irresistible danger and endless winter. Of power.

Tony wants him.

…

“So. What’s it like on your planet?”

Talk about questions he’d thought he’d never ask over dinner, but Loki is sitting there – right next to him – shredding his Shwarma and picking lightly at the meaty bits. Sharp teeth flash every time he takes a bite, and Tony’s reminded of the bears and seals that came too close.

“Cold,” Loki says. “Jotunheimr is a realm of ice. Your people would not be able to survive there.”

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. Loki seems to radiate cold – the bone-deep, burning kind that leads to lost toes – and his breath mists in the air. Still, though, Tony wants to touch him. There’s still a part of him that thinks Loki can’t possibly be real – he’s too _much_. For all that they’re both from space, Thor looks like he’s a LARPer until the lightning strikes; Loki is alien and unfathomable, and Tony wants to get close enough to touch. To find out what makes him tick.

Thor is watching them, brooding between bites. Tony doesn’t care. He watches ice crawl down the sides of Loki’s glass when he takes a drink and tries not to think of what happened to the Chitauri he saw Loki touch. How their skin blackened and froze, and their limbs grew so cold they snapped off and how their blood – spraying from wounds carved out with a blade of ice – froze in the air and shattered on the ground.

…

Blue is power. Whether it’s the glow of the Tesseract or the Arc Reactor; or whether it’s the spangly-blue patriotism of the Cap, blue is always power. It’s the cryokinesis Loki used to slice Chitauri in half and chill his glass and the flash of Thor’s lightning. It’s on flags, it’s on logos - _his_ logo, in fact – it’s in the water and the sky and the ice. 

Blue is everywhere, and it’s powerful. No matter what the shade, no matter what the location, blue is power. And it is deadly.

Tony loves blue. He loves power. He wants to reach out and touch the untouchable; it’s in his blood, surging through him with every beat of his battery-powered heart.

…

“You fear me,” Loki says. 

They’re both on a midnight kitchen raid when they meet. Tony, fresh from having finished a design spec now in production, is overtired and underfed and in search of a sandwich (or three). Loki seems to be nocturnal, and he’s sitting at the breakfast counter snacking on sashimi. The good stuff; Tony doesn’t bother with any other kind.

“I’m a smart guy,” Tony replies.

Black lips stretch into a smile and sharp teeth gleam. The markings on Loki’s face shift and move with his expressions – when he blushes, Tony’s learned, they turn black; striking against ice-shadow skin. He’s about as far from human as you can possibly get while still staying the same shape. JARVIS has done some scans to prove it.

“I never claimed you weren’t,” Loki replies. His fingers curl around an unfortunate piece of salmon and raise it to his lips. He holds it there for a moment, red eyes locked on Tony, using it to trace the shape of his mouth ever so slightly. “But you do seem to fear me more than the others.” 

He hasn’t stopped smiling.

“You watch me more.”

The salmon vanishes. Snapped up, fast. Tony shudders. But a gauntlet’s been thrown, and Loki’s still fucking _smiling_.

“I like beautiful things,” Tony tells him. It comes out louder and more blunt than he intended. “So yeah, I watch you. But I kind of prefer them when they aren’t capable of ripping my heart out. Hence the fear.”

And that, right there, is why he doesn’t find Natasha attractive. It still doesn’t explain Loki, of course, because his face has surfaced more than once in Tony’s fantasies lately – maybe his sense of self-preservation is dropping.

“Has Odinson been telling stories again?” Loki asks once he’s swallowed.

“Nope,” Tony tells him, and it’s true. Thor doesn’t need to tell stories. It’s plain to everyone that he and Loki hate each other. There’s a history there – something dark and bitter that makes Loki sneer and Thor watch his back. Beyond his initial introduction, his comment that Loki was the only sorcerer he knew that was both stronger than Amora and unconnected to her, Thor hasn’t said a word.

His body language, on the other hand, has written an entire book and is in negotiations for a movie deal.

“And if I promise not to harm you?” Loki asks.

It’s the lull. It’s the deep breath and the sense of calm before the ice cracks and swallows him whole. Tony moves forward. He moves so that he’s standing next to Loki – standing _over_ Loki – who twists to look up at him. This close, he can see that Loki’s markings have darkened to black and he can count the long lashes that frame his eyes.

When he takes his deep, final breath, he can smell ice and snow; something that might be magic and the light salt-tang of fresh sashimi. He can smell the Arctic.

Then the world crashes out from beneath him. Loki’s lips are cold and soft, and his teeth are sharp when Tony sweeps his tongue into his mouth and runs it along them. He can taste blood and he doesn’t care; can feel Loki’s fingers digging into his shoulders and his lean body arching, drawing them closer.

When he draws back, his lips are numb and his nose feels red from cold; when he exhales, his breath is cold enough to mist in the air between them. Loki’s smile is beautiful and wintry and there’s a red smear of Tony’s blood at the corner of his mouth. He licks it away – his tongue is black, inhumanly long and prehensile.

“Then I promise, Anthony, never to hurt you,” he says. His voice drops, wickedly teasing. “If you do not desire me to.”

There’s laughter in his voice and a final, abyssal crack rings in the back of Tony’s mind. Loki is _probably_ lying and Tony knows it. He’s power and danger wrapped up into one impossible, incredible being. He is _Loki_.

He leans in and licks blood from the corner of Tony’s mouth. Tony turns his head, just slightly, and sucks that tongue into his mouth, drawing Loki into another kiss so that he doesn’t have to say anything. They both know that he’ll take what he can get before he chokes on it.

…

He wakes up to the blue of a summer sky peeking through his bedroom window, and JARVIS reporting a lovely day with record-warm temperatures. He wakes up cold, with Loki pressed to his back and an arm over him – black-clawed hand resting comfortably on the Arc Reactor.

He should be screaming. There’s no safety line; no axe to stop him falling. Instead he feels peace. Safety. Like he can close his eyes and relax forever, back into the freezing warmth of Loki’s arms where lust accompanies hypothermia. 

“Stop thinking, Stark,” Loki whispers against his neck, his breath frosting over small hairs. “I swore never to harm you.” 

His hand slides down, icy claws scratching down his chest and belly and brushing suggestively at the base of his cock. Tony rises to the occasion even as JARVIS reports the temperature of the room plummeting. The wintry scent of magic fills the air and Tony tips his head back as cold kisses are pressed to his neck.

He is lost, and the world is blue.


End file.
